The Path of Duty, and Other StoriesCaswell, Harriet S. (Harriet Sophia)
General
The Path of Duty, and Other Stories
Caswell, Harriet S. (Harriet Sophia)
Country life -- Fiction; Family -- Fiction; Friendship -- Fiction; Pastoral fiction; Short stories
sleep, let them sleep;" and the veteran drew his brawny hand over his
eyes. All the curiosity of my nature was roused; and the old men seated
by his side gazed upon him enquiringly, and put themselves in a
listening attitude. The speaker, observing this, sat silent for a few
moments, as if collecting his thoughts, and then related the following
tale:
"There has come a mighty change over the face of this
country since the time when I first emigrated here. The spot where now
stand your prettiest towns and villages was then a howling wilderness.
Instead of the tinkling of the cow-bells and the merry whistle of the
farmer-boy as he calls his herd to the fold, might be heard the wild cry
of the panther, the howl of the wolf, and the equally appalling yell of
the aborigines. These were 'times to try men's souls'; and it was then
the heart of oak and the sinews of iron which commanded respect. Let me
describe to you some scenes in which such men were the actors; scenes
which called forth all the energy of man's nature; and in the depths of
this western wilderness, many hundreds of Alexanders and Caesars, who
have never been heard of. At the time I emigrated to Ohio the deadly
hatred of the red men toward the whites had reached its acme. The rifle,
the tomahawk and the scalping knife were daily at work; and men, women
and children daily fell victims to this sanguinary spirit. In this state
I found things when I reached the small village opposite the mouth of
Licking river, and now the great city of Cincinnati. Here in this great
temple of nature man has taken up his abode, and all that he could wish
responds to his touch; the fields and meadows yield their produce, and,
unmolested by the red man whom he has usurped, he enjoys the bounties of
a beneficent Creator. And where is the red man? Where is he! Like wax
before the flame he has melted away from before the white man, leaving
him no legacy save that courageous daring which will live in song long
after their last remnant shall have passed away. At the time when I
first stepped upon these grounds the red man still grasped the sceptre
which has since been wrenched from his hand. They saw the throne of
their father beginning to totter. Their realm had attracted the cupidity
of a race of strangers, and with maddening despair, they grasped their
falling power, and daily grew more desperate as they became more
endangered. I among the rest had now a view of this exuberant west, this
great valley of the Hesperides; and I determined to assist in
extirpating the red man, and to usurp the land of his fathers. Among the
men who were at the village, I found one who for magnanimity and
undaunted courage merits a wreath which should hang high in the temple
of fame, and yet, like hundreds of others, he has passed away unhonored,
unsung. His name was Ralph Watts, a sturdy Virginian, with a heart
surpassing all which has been said of Virginia's sons, in those
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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